


On Duty and Off (The Brass Rat Remix)

by CodenameCarrot



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel
Genre: Canon!MIT, Child Prodigy, Gen, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, MIT Era, Military-Industrial Complex, Protective Rhodey, Remix, Rhodey Is a Good Bro, Underage Drinking, Why Would You Send a 15 Year Old to College, my MIT degree is for fanfiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-25
Updated: 2016-11-25
Packaged: 2018-09-02 05:13:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8652334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CodenameCarrot/pseuds/CodenameCarrot
Summary: James Rhodes went to MIT on a ROTC scholarship, majored Course 16 (Aero-Astro), managed a 4.7/5.0 GPA, and was generally an upstanding West-Campus sort of guy. He knew where his life was going.The last was thrown out the window when he met a messed up kid during R/O week 1985...





	1. 1985-1986 School Year

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [On Duty and Off](https://archiveofourown.org/works/851928) by [Instigator](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Instigator/pseuds/Instigator). 



> Remixed without permission.
> 
> When I first read 'On Duty and Off' I was struck by how emotionally powerful it was. But the reason it kept popping into my thoughts over the following week was that it WAS NOT set at MIT. From the parties, to having a car, to living off campus, I just kept thinking: 'could this work if they were actually at the 'tute?' 
> 
> 'what about if it was actually during the 80's?' ... in '77 there was a Pulitzer Prize photo of racial violence in Boston's Government Center, then the crack epidemic and AIDS, and the very first computers (anybody else fondly remember the Apple II or IBM 386...?) the peso crashed, the Cold War continued, and the MIT med center opened.
> 
> This remix was an attempt to answer these questions without loosing the raw feeling of the original. I hope to have achieved some small measure of success.

The time since James' 21st could still be counted in days, and it was possible that he'd had more than a little too much to drink. Still, he usually tried to drag his ass home sometime before dawn, so he shouted goodbyes over the din of a party still going strong. The eastern light was beginning to catch the waves on the Charles, but James didn’t think there was any actual sun up yet.

Even without the press of bodies kicking off Rush in the Senior House courtyard it was still hot enough that James decided returning via the air-conditioned halls of building 66 and the infinite corridor was a better choice than staying outside. 

At the lobby just before the junction with building 56, James heard a noise and stopped. Through the fog of booze and incipient hangover he wasn’t 100% sure what he’d heard, so he listened in case it happened again. It did; someone was crying.

James looked around, but didn’t see anybody. 

He zeroed in on the sound - it wasn't full-on crying, more an unsteady series of breaths, made worse by the occasional gulping hitch echoing off the bare concrete walls. Somebody trying not to freak out or panic...? After a little wandering he found them on the second floor: a figure laid flat on the broad concrete window sill, face turned away, a too-large grey hoodie pulled over both head and hands. 

They jerked up at the sound of his footsteps, bringing their - his - face up towards the intruder. It was a kid, early highschool age at best.

“Hey, kid. What are you doing here?” James tried to keep sound calm, non-accusatory. It was probably a freshman or someone's little brother who came to to get in on the parties and got separated. Maybe a runaway, although they usually stuck more to Central Square.

“You’re not security.” The kid retorted, going right for defensive.

"No shit Sherlock," James said. His flannel had seen better days and there was a smear of lipstick on his white t-shirt from collar to pec. "Just wondering if you’re ok. You look a little young to be out here alone at 4am. Where are your folks?”

“New York” the boy spat.

“You want me to help you get in touch with them? Maybe they can help you find whoever it is that’s supposed to be keeping an eye on you.”

The boy flared his nostrils and scowled. He shoved himself to his feet. “Nobody is supposed to be keeping-“ he faltered on his feet, stumbling a little, and he steadied himself against the wall. He glared at the hand James unthinkingly reached towards him in case he pitched over. “-An eye on me.”

“Runaway?”

The boy glared outright, yanking on the edge of his hoodie and gesturing to the MIT insignia. “Student.”

James’s eyebrows raised. “You’re a frosh? Sorry. In this light you look, like, 12.”

The boy kept glaring. “Sophomore. Course 2 and 6.” 

James blinked at him. “And how old are you?"

“15. Genius.” The boy answered, as if that explained everything. He took a few steps towards James, clearly planning to pass him and be on his way. James frowned at the kids walk - he was unsteady on his feet, looked pretty shaken.

This kid was not okay. As he got closer he reeked of booze, bad enough that even James' desensitized nose could tell, and he looked like he hadn’t slept in a week. Ok, it was the end of rush, everyone on campus looked like they hadn’t slept in a week. But this kid had a haunted, fractured look to him. Something had gone down with this kid and nobody else seemed to be around to deal with it. Not that James knew how to deal with it either.

“You’re not walking so good. Party a little too hard?” The kid grunted a vague agreement. “Need some help getting home? I could find security for you.”

The kid shook his head, looking down. His hands were shaking. “I know the way to Baker House.”

James hesitated over the next words, but he had to do something. “Baker House? I'll drop you off on my way. I'm in New House.”

The kid snorted, a sort of twisted almost-laugh, and James felt the knife of another joke at his expense. One that only got worse when the kid's next words were clipped with a precise mid-Atlantic accent: "Actually I'm in Eastgate, but I've got a lab in Building 20." 

Eastgate. The grad-dorm was the exact opposite direction from where James needed to go, but what the hell. He was already going to sleep till dinner tonight. “Fine. I'm still walking you home.” He reached out a hand, hesitantly. “You wanna lean on me a little?”

The kid hesitated, seemed to be taking stock. He turned his head away so James couldn’t see his face in the folds of the hood. He nodded, just once, and James looped an arm under the kids. They started out. Up closer the smell of booze became overpowering and the smell of sex was noticeable, which did nothing to calm James’s growing sense of fury at whoever this kid had been hanging around with, and whoever he was supposed to be with. 

When they reached The Point of 66 he practically carried the kid down from the second floor. James considered stopping, going outside instead of taking the tunnels. It might have been easier, for James, but the kid probably only weighed a hundred pounds soaking wet and he was sweating despise the air conditioning. Tunnels it was. They made the U-turn that would take them down another story.

By the time they dragged themselves though the tunnels, before they even exited at the med center to cut across across deserted parking lots and into the Eastgate lobby, James was ready to kill somebody. He decided to make sure the kid was an at-the-door delivery, so he could at the least give the stink-eye to whatever brother or aunt or somebody this kid was supposed to be living with. The kid didn’t argue with him. At the front desk, he fumbled with his ID and keys, but eventually managed to get them into the building and then into his apartment. 

There wasn’t anyone waiting up for him. The kid pointed towards an open closet spilling out cables and machine parts visible from the entry. “Kitchen.” He instructed. James did as he was told, discovering the kitchen across from what was probably had been meant as a pantry, and deposited the kid in a chair at the kitchen table. 

The kid slumped down, eyes closed, and James got him a glass of water and shoved it in front of him. “There. Start with that.”

The kid downed the glass in one go with an uncomfortable amount of proficiently as James looked around the apartment. The "pantry" pretty much summed it up: the place was a wreck. It had been decently decorated, but whoever lived here clearly didn’t give a shit about their living conditions. There was paper and blueprints and tech parts scattered all over the place, pinned to walls, and a pile of dirty laundry in the living room. Two bedrooms, both beds buried under more drafting papers. Damn. Fifth East was better than this. He kept his voice down. “Who else lives here?”

The kid gave him a look clearly intended to pity James for his low IQ. “Just me. I told you that.”

“Just you.” James echoed. The kid nodded. “And you’re 15.” Another nod. And now James was mad all over again. He could understand if the kid slipped the leash now and then, but nobody was even trying to keep tabs on him? He pressed his lips together, no point in yelling here, now. It wasn’t the kid's fault. He shook his head.

The kid was a twig under that baggy hoodie, his too-large hands twisting the empty glass. Maybe he’d have some juice or something. James got up and went to the fridge, the kid watched him warily. Oh, now he was wary? After letting a complete stranger into his empty apartment? He opened the fridge.

Beer, open chinese takeout leftover from a Mary Chung's order, something moulding in a bowl, ketchup and…more beer. He looked back at the kid, who shrugged. _What did you expect?_

He hadn’t expected _this._ Hadn’t meant to get involved with a situation this messed up. He snagged the empty glass and refilled it at the sink, dropping it back in front of the kid, who immediately started drinking it. He was watching James like he was a mystery - like it was so strange for somebody to be looking after him. For his part, James was too pissed off to say anything.

Eventually the kid piped up. “What’s your name?”

“James.”

“James?” the kid made a disapproving face. “Nuh-uh. That’s not gonna work. I know like, 3 dozen James’s. Unless you wanna end up as ‘Bla-“

“Don’t.” He interrupted. “Don’t go down that road, kid. You haven’t got a map.” Yeah, he was “Black James”. Not to his face, most of the time, but when people reached for a signifier, that was the one they used for him. That was what they thought of.

The kid just nodded, seeming to approve. “What about your last name?”

“Rhodes.”

“Rhodes? Ok. That I can work with. I’m Tony.”

“Hi. You really live alone here?” Tony nodded. James rubbed his eyes. “Why?”

Kid shrugged, eyes to the side again as he fidgeted with his glass on the table. “Because I live in Boston and my folks live in New York. I’m a genius. I don’t need to be told how to take care of myself.”

“Your fridge begs to differ.”

“I mostly eat at Walker.”

“I hope so.” James ran a hand over his head. “Look, you seem like you had a pretty rough night. Maybe you should, like…I don’t know. Report it?”

Tony eyed him skeptically again. “Report what?”

James’s didn’t know exactly what had gone down, but he knew fifteen sure as hell wasn’t the age of consent, or old enough to drink, and combined with crying alone in 66… it painted a picture bad enough to make him feel sick. One James didn’t want to say out loud. “Seems like somebody’s been…rougher with you than they should've been. Especially with your age. They deserve some trouble over it..?” James hated how his voice rose, making it into a question.

“Nah. Just partied a little too hard, like you said. It’s fine. Tomorrow I’ll be right as rain," Tony said as he toyed with his glass on the table again, both hands poking around it’s base.

James wanted to argue. It was not fine. And while he'd bet money that tomorrow Tony wouldn't be right as rain, James didn’t feel like he had any right to force kid he didn’t even know to talk to about it. “It already is tomorrow.” He answered instead.

Tony glanced out the kitchen window. You could see the Museum of Science from here, and the sun breaking over it. 

“Looks like it," Tony agreed with a fair amount of side-eye. "Maybe the day after tomorrow, then." The side-eye changed into a full on appraisal. "Y’know. You don’t look so hot, either. You can hang on my couch if you want, catch a nap.”

There was _just_ enough hope in Tony’s voice to sway him. James was dead tired anyway, and if he left he’d just end up banging around being pissed off on Tony’s behalf. If he stayed, he could at least keep an eye out for a little bit. Maybe make sure Tony got to Walker for breakfast. Or dinner. James nodded. “Yeah, thanks. I do feel half dead.”

He helped clear the papers off one of the beds and got Tony into it, napped on the couch, drank an unexpectedly fantastic cup of coffee when he woke up, and promised himself he’d keep half an eye on this kid from now on.

.

* * *

By Thanksgiving break he realized he’d acquired new name - Rhodey - and crazy little rich white boy as a kid brother.

.

* * *

Tony was insane. Certifiably nuts. Practically every time James saw him he was building something that nobody had ever built before, or running like hell from the resulting sparks, fires, and occasional explosion with a giant grin on his face.

James was as straight laced as you'd expect a ROTC candidate to be. Hell, he hadn't drunk before he turned 21, and not just because it might have endangered his commission. But he still introduced the kid to the Coffeehouse Club in the hopes of reigning in Tony's more _explosive_ tendencies. It worked. The kid fell into hacking the way a frog falls into water and became an epic prankmaster. James was propelled into it in the same way a note wrapped around a rock is propelled through a window. Still, it wasn't without it's moments. 

James’s favorite hack was when they rewired the security PA in the student center to a tapedeck, and then secured the deck behind a mechanical riser - it was such a tight fit Tony was almost too large. Even with take-down instructions Maintenance couldn't get to it, and they'd controlled the overhead music in the student center for three solid days. Tony had great taste in music.

And then there were the other moments; the ones when Tony seemed hell-bent on destroying himself. It was like if he lived badly enough, dangerously enough, he was hoping somebody would stop him. Put some limits down. Maybe even make him go home. But nobody ever showed up.

Rhodey couldn’t make Tony stop, but sometimes he could pull damage control: letting a drunk girl at a party in on Tony's age, intercepting early-morning deliveries and re-routing the most dangerous supplies to labs with functioning safety protocols, sitting in when Tony had to hold office hours so the lowest of the student body couldn't try to seduce or blackmail the Stark heir.

He tried making Tony remove the mold from his fridge. That failed, but now the cleaning service came twice a week, and in addition to a smaller quantity of beer they stocked the fridge with things like milk and apples when they were there. 

He tried to getting Tony to sleep, but it seemed that kid had condensed "study, sleep, socialize: choose two" into simply "study" with unpredictable bursts of binge partying. James couldn't throw stones as far as that went, if you counted playing guardian angel to a all-too-charismatic pint-sized mad genius as "socialize," he'd made the same choice. And, well, so had most of the campus - there was a reason that the student center, Athena clusters and Hayden library were open twenty four hours a day.

He couldn’t be there all the time - especially since Tony was in constant motion. James had regular class (thank god he hadn't met Tony while taking _Unifried_ ) PT and ROTC requirements, and he liked to do things like eat, or sleep, or talk bullshit with his brothers back at Chocolate City. 

Tony? Tony had his lab - supposedly there was an advisor with it but James had never met them man - 2nd year Italian, and the Couse 2 recitation he was supposedly co-teaching. His other classes were all special seminars with world renown professors held at irregular times. Thank goodness Tony had warmed to James enough in the first few weeks that he was usually in his lab on PT mornings; afterwards he'd join James in the Building 20 courtyard and they'd head over to Walker for breakfast together.

It sure beat the times he'd had to track down Tony in one of the _other_ places the kid seemed to have unlimited access to. In addition to unregistered parties he'd found the kid in the Course 3 materials testing labs, the cyclotron _and_ the nuclear reactor, the range, and the basement of Bexley House. 

The last had been more terrifying than the rest combined. Not so much because of he color of his skin, but because despite being on the West side of Mass Ave, Bexley was as East Campus as they came, and James was a West Campus man. He wasn't planning on ratting anyone out, he just needed to get Tony out of there.

They fought; Tony didn't think he needed to be reigned in, but every time James tracked him down he seemed to be on the brink of some kind of catastrophic trouble or a scientific breakthrough. Sometimes the only way James knew the difference was the company Tony was keeping. 

.

* * *

As he'd done for the last two years, James was headed to his mother's second cousin Majorie's place in JP for Thanksgiving. The extended family had reconnected around him when he came up to MIT, and James had spent most of his "mental health Mondays" over there at Mama's urging. Thanksgiving too; Mama insisted Thanksgiving was for family, even if they couldn't afford a plane ticket home. 

Building 20 was on the way to the T, so he stopped in to see the kid on his way out. Tony was actually wearing proper safety gear as he heated stock steel to white hot. Whatever he was doing was probably time critical, so James waited until he'd set the torch down and pushed the goggles back into his messy hair to talk.

"Go home man. Talk to your folks. Eat some turkey. Relax." He said, shouldering his bag. Tony waved him off with assurances that he'd catch the train to New York later, there were just a few more things he needed to get to.

Rhodey came back Saturday to see lights still on in the lab. When he went to turn them off - who the hell can't remember to flip the switch as they leave? His gram would have tanned his hide - he found Tony up to his elbows in robotics parts, wearing the same clothes he’d been in when Rhodey left, mumbling something about being too busy with work for a kids holiday.

Rhodey didn’t know whether it was just Tony avoiding his parents, or rejecting them, or if maybe they really just didn’t care. It was entirely plausible that they didn’t know what was going on.

Tony could be charming and put together and speak up for himself: he handled the school administrators effortlessly. James wouldn’t be surprised if the staff never told the Starks what their son was doing, or if nobody on the staff even knew what the kid was up to. Tony was brilliant, and tough, too. If he’d met the kid differently, he probably would have believed that Tony could manage on his own.

.

* * *

Christmas and IAP was the final straw. Rhodey had actually frogmarched the kid to the demolition site that was South Station. He watched as Tony weaved around construction barriers to board the train to New York before doubling back to Park Street for the godawful Green Line to Blue Line to Shuttle bus transfer that would get him to Logan Airport and a flight home. 

He chewed his gum and felt his ears pop with a sort of reverent detachment - there was a reason James was Course 16, bound for the Air Force - relaxed with the knowledge that Tony should be at his parents house for the next five weeks. And once they saw him, his teenage gangliness crossing the line into gaunt, they'd lay it on the line with him about how he was living. James was hopeful this was the start of something better.

James came back to campus three weeks later - halfway through the Independent Activities Period - with vague thoughts about hitting both the library and gym before classes started again. Some of his brothers were interested in Mystery Hunt, and he'd promised to be on their team. Half of campus was still gone, but he went to some parties, mostly West Campus ones, had a few drinks, and unwound. 

That ended when friendly acquaintance pulled Rhodey aside at the one Senior House gig he'd gone to - ironically, at the urging of that acquaintance - and said Tony was outside. That the kid had hit the pharmaceutical bar and somebody needed to go deal with him right away. Rhodey was the acknowledged babysitter.

Tony was outside, in the scant protection of the courtyard, huddled against The Tree and shaking violently. He’d already puked up whatever had been in his stomach a few feet back, and even in the frozen air the stench booze overshadowed that of stomach acid. It didn't take much to confirm that Tony had been into something harder than alcohol tonight, and it wasn't agreeing with him. His eyes were wide and round, his pupils taking up most of them. He was sweating and pale and breathing in short, shallow bursts punctuated by high, nervous laughter and fragmented babble: mostly about robotics but sometimes about waffles. There was a girl sitting next to him, rubbing his back, who told Rhodey that they’d found him being led off with a group of boys she didn’t recognize but that, for reasons she didn’t want to elaborate on, she didn’t trust.

He sent the girl to find his acquaintance, best to limit the number of people who knew about this, and they dragged Tony back to Eastgate. Rhodey stayed with him to wait it out; It took Tony a good few hours to clear his system, and then he crashed, sleeping like a corpse. At least he’d stopped throwing up.

.

* * *

Late the next afternoon Tony shuffled into the kitchen where Rhodey was drinking coffee and worrying. Tony dropped down into a chair, avoiding his eyes. There was a dense, uncomfortable silence. 

“What the hell were you thinking?” Rhodey snapped when he couldn’t take it anymore.

“Something about waffles.” Tony answered flippantly. It was fast enough to be clear he'd been expecting the question, and he was still avoiding eye contact.

“I mean, getting involved with the pharmaceuticals bar. Do you even know what the hell you took?”

“I was _manning_ the bar. I didn’t take anything. It was in my drink or something.” Tony whined, half-way between petulance and righteousness, even as he slumped further into the chair. 

Rhodey put his hands over his face. “Oh my God. Tony. Tony. You can’t keep doing this shit. Being in these situations. Do you even understand what could happen to you in a situation like that?” Stupid question, of course Tony did.

“Settle down, mom, I-“

“Mom? Mom? Do you even have a mom? Where the hell are your parents? You were supposed to be with them for another week. When did you get back? Do they have any idea what sort of shit you’re getting into up here?”

“It doesn’t-“

“I swear to God, if you say it doesn’t matter I am going to beat your ass, Tony. Do not hand me that.” Rhodey stood, grabbing the phone on the kitchen pass-through. He slammed it down on the table with a faint ringing noise, right in front of Tony. “Call them.”

Tony’s chin got that stubborn set. “What?”

“Call. Your parents. Right now. I want to see you call them, and explain the shit that has been going on here with you. Now.”

“I’m not-“ Tony started to argue.

“Call. Now.” Rhodey interrupted. He stood with one hand next to the phone, frankly looming over Tony where he sat.

Tony started to object, but James stared him down. And as stubborn as Tony was, he was shaken, and Rhodey was sure.

With a resentful glare Tony grabbed the phone, punching the numbers in viciously. He settled in as it rang, and Rhodey sat back down.Tony’s head was tilted down, resting on one fist, broadcasting how much he hated this with every line of his body. Too bad. This shit needed doing.

Eventually there was a faint noise on the other end, and Tony actually seemed to brighten for a second, sitting a little straighter.. “Jarvis? Hey, J! How’s it hanging?” a pause, and Tony’s lips tightened a little. “Yeah. Whichever of them, I don’t care.” Another pause. Tony drummed his fingers in the kitchen table, getting tenser by the second. He must really be expecting them to blow up.

Tony closed his eyes when the next faint voice came up over the receiver. “Hi dad. No, there’s no emergency… Fine? Well, I don’t know if I’m-“ another pause. Tony had the phone pressed hard against his ear with a white-knuckled hand, and Rhodey couldn’t make out what the voice on the other end was saying. “No. No immediate danger, just-…I know. I know. Work stuff, yeah. Well, I just-… Actually, a lot of the guys here do talk to their parents more than once a month. No, I know you’re busy. I know.” 

Tony’s eyes opened, shining with tears, and he trained them on the ceiling. His voice sounded completely calm, totally casual, even though he looked like he might throw up with each painfully silent shuddering inhalation. 

“Is that Obie? Do I hear Obie there with you? Put him on, I-…Look, I just need to-“ his eyes snapped shut again as he tilted his head back. He shifted his head, as if trying to relax his neck or throat. “But dad- no, don’t-”

Tony huffed a pained, nearly silent sigh, and looked like he was waiting. He didn’t look at Rhodey. Tony swore under his breath. His face was starting to go red, humiliated that probably the best friend he had was watching this; Rhodey already regretted he'd forced Tony into it. 

Tony got his voice back to normal again by the next time he spoke. 

“Mom, Hi. No, I didn’t upset him. Thats-…he was already like that when I called. It’s his default state. That’s not backtalk it’s-…no I just wanted to talk to-…” he went silent again, hanging his head, crimson to his ears. He looked in obvious pain, now. “But-…” Tony curled inward, blinking fast, looking so lost, so hurt. He still kept his voice almost completely level. 

Rhodey’d wondered where Tony picked up such a steady voice to go with such an expressive, transparent face. How many years had he been making these calls? 

Tony’s expression shifted, anger taking over. That, he did let into his voice. Rhodey thought about taking the phone, trying to explain for Tony, but- “Ok. We’ll skip next months call and call it even, ok? Ok, fine! We can skip the one after that, to!” Another painful silence as Tony’s jaw went tight. “ ‘Don’t call us, we’ll call you’. Right… No. I’m not.” He added defensively. Finally his face contorted in a furious, heartbroken grimace and he slammed the phone back down on it’s receiver hard enough to shake the table.

Tony didn’t look up. He kept his face towards the table, resting on two fists against his crown, his shoulders dawn up tight.

Shit.

There was no backup. Not for Tony, and not for Rhodey dealing with Tony. Nobody cared. Rhodey’d listened to Tony fly through every adult Rhodey’d ever heard him speak fondly of in a matter of minutes, and none of them so much as asked him what he was calling about.

Rhodey got up, went to the fridge, and grabbed three beers. He put one in front of his chair, and two in front of Tony’s. He opened all three bottles, and sat back down, heavily. This was not good surrogate big brother behavior but, holy shit, Rhodey had no reference for dealing with something like this. 

“I need a beer after just listening to that. So you get two," Rhodey all but sighed. This wasn’t what he’d wanted. He hadn’t meant to humiliate Tony like that, make him show just how little his parents cared. Hadn’t meant to rub it in Tony’s face. Guilt knotted him up and he took a long pull off the bottle.

After a moment, Tony reached over and grabbed one of the bottles, downing most of it in one go.

If Rhodey didn’t take care of the little maniac, it was obvious nobody else would. And Tony was a great kid. A legitimate pleasure to be around. He liked him, but he didn’t know what to do with an abandoned child. Still, Rhodey had to do something to mitigate this mess. 

“Tell you what. I haven't booked tickets home for spring break. Let’s you and me go someplace. Maybe out of the country. We could borrow cousin Majorie's car and get to Canada in about four hours. New Hampshire in two. Find a better party.”

“Pity for the poor little psudo-orphan?” Tony challenged, taking another long pull.

“I think you and I are both better off if we stick together. That way I don’t have to end my night early rescuing your sorry self, and you don’t get in over your head. Besides.” Rhodey said, matter-of-fact. Then he leaned back, trying to shoot a grin for Tony. “You know I’m ROTC. I want to see what kind of mayhem Tony Stark can get up to on foreign soil. Especially with backup. Consider it weapons testing.”

Tony looked him over, assessing, then his mouth curled into a considering half-smile. If Rhodey knew anything about Tony, the boy genius would spend the next six weeks figuring out exactly how to maximize his impact.

.

* * *

They went to a Stark R&D Facility in upstate New York. It turned out Tony, despite his undergrad status, had an on-campus parking space and a car to go in it - but no license or driver - so James drove them. They spent three days shooting the finest in Stark small arms, before moving on to plastic explosives. Tony actually apologized for the lack of ballistic rockets - those were built under much stricter lock and key - before coming up with a rusted out jalopy that they wired up to enough C4 to turn it into tinsel. And then they turned it into tinsel.

If they swung north through Montreal on their way back, perhaps crashing a few parties, well, that was no-one's business but their own. Although, Rhodey would treasure image of Tony shit-talking bouncers in French for years to come.


	2. Lt. Rhodes, Class of '87

Every summer so far Rhodey had headed home and worked. It was nothing special: by-the-week camp councilor for the Y when he could, although he'd missed a bunch of weeks last summer going to Officer Training at Maxwell AFB, and some the summer before that for the Rising Sophomore and the Soaring Programs. This summer though, most of the Course 16 students were getting real internships - GE, Raytheon, _Stark_ \- that paid real money. 

Boeing, Bombadier, and Lockheed Martin all had internships close to home and James found himself talking them over with Tony. 

"I mean, what if they just want a CNC technician? I could've done that without MIT. And Lockheed seemed _way_ to focused on my WPM; they probably want a student to type up some moldy old engineers notes, which is marginally better... 

"Or, fuck it, I could take out a few more loans, apply for the Air Force's NASA Engineering Program. Go back to the Y if I don't get in. Tony? You even listening, man?"

Yeah. The kid had been listening. Forging his signature too, because he'd somehow been accepted into the intensely competitive Stark Industries Future Technologists Program - the one he hadn't applied to. 

"Tony. What is up with this?" Rhodey asked, sliding the envelope across the honed stone lab bench.

"Mm?" Tony didn't look up from the bubbling solution in front of him. No gloves today, but at least he was in safety goggles.

"I never applied for a Stark Internship. I know that, you know that. So why do I have an acceptance and a _rooming assignment_?!" Rhodey growled.

"I needed a roommate, and honey bear, you needed a internship that both valued your mind and paid enough you can cover spring break _next_ year," Tony said. There was an expressive shrug - he was done with this conversation - and the kid turned back to the supplies on his bench.

.

* * *

Yeah, James had promised Tony that next year's spring break was on him. And he was still fighting to get Tony to accept that. Maybe they'd only make it to Bermuda or Miami, but Tony had planned and paid for their last adventure, and Rhodey was determined that next one was on him.

.

* * *

As for the summer, working at Stark Industries was boss. The Adirondack campus was mainly a lab surrounded by warehouses, thrown up in the post-war building boom, but Stark Sr. had clearly gotten a real architect because there was some Frank Lloyd Wright level shit going on with how the blocky buildings didn't look out of place nestled between the mountains and long valley lake. There was even a dorm specifically for the interns. Topping it off was a dinky airstrip paralleling the equally dinky main road, and a grizzled Grumman Albatross floating at the end of the pier that set out for civilization every Tuesday to bring back most of the specialized supplies.

Even better, they were working on real projects with some of the best scientists and engineers in the world, and the money was very, very real. As a bonus someone (Tony) had arranged for flight time for anyone on site with a pilots license who wanted to get type rated on that beast of a seaplane. 

Rooming with Tony was an order of magnitude more peaceful than Rhodey had expected. The kid had got a buzz cut and a pair of overly large red framed glasses an introduced himself as Collin Edwards, hot-shot freshman prodigy from NYU, but other than that he was the same Tony. Only, and it was heartbreaking, this was the kid Tony could have been if there'd been a single adult in his life who cared.

This Tony listened to his 'mentor.'

This Tony ate regular meals in the company cafeteria, and was usually asleep by midnight.

This Tony glowed under the praise from the scientists and engineers they worked with. The same Tony he'd heard refer to a professor as "what's-his-name, the one with the Fields prize," took the time to learn his coworkers names, and have real conversations with them.

He charmed everyone too. Maybe it was all a mask, but from _tactfully_ correcting senior engineers in the lab to cannon-balling off the end of the pier with a half dozen other kids during midnight skinny dipping, everyone warmed to their resident prodigy. The final holdouts among the support staff were converted when a power surge fried everything in the print room, and - facing at least a week before Xerox was going to send a tech to _assess the damage_ \- Tony had mobilized the intern corps, raided more than one of the on-site warehouses, and had the whole thing back-in-service by Monday. Bambi had left a mug of steaming coffee on his desk every morning for weeks after that.

With the long hours and shared rooms, there wasn't much hooking up going on, and even if it'd been rampant Tony wouldn't have been involved. Almost all of the interns were heading into their senior year, and "Collins-the-Frosh" had been all-but-adopted as their mascot. If Rhodey hadn't had to overhear to the kid jerking off every night, he would have said that abstinent was a good look for Tony.

(Sixteen had been rough. The least Rhodey could do was turn a deaf ear and hope that he hadn't been so transparent at that age.)

It was a good summer, and Rhodey had high hopes for the fall semester. 

.

* * *

Everything almost fell apart during rush. He left Tony in his lab a few days before Killian Kick-Off to help his brothers set-up; Rhodey and his cousin Majorie's car were much in demand for supply runs. Tony had seemed so completely engrossed in a number of projects he'd put on hold over the summer, including a weird metal arm-thing, that Rhodey _really had_ thought he'd be safe in Building 20.

Which is why he nearly lost it when he saw Tony at Killian. Rhodey and Dwayne, a Sophomore he hadn't really had the time to get to know last year, were leading a group of frosh down Mem Drive back to Chocolate City when he saw Tony and some hot white girls. They were being led to the only parked car not covered in Greek letters by two guys that were A) bad news, and B) had absolutely no right or reason to be at Killian. 

Rhodey saw red. Tony wasn't the vulnerable kid he'd all but carried out of Building 66 a year ago, and he'd be damned if he let those, those _perverts_ drag Tony back down. Some of his agitation must've shown because Dwayne peeled off toward the group. 

"What house are you guys with?" He called out. They stopped, halfway to the suspiciously un-lettered car, to look at Dwayne. And then Tony looked past Dwayne at Rhodey and the group of freshman he was leading and his face froze somewhere between gratitude and mortification. 

The standoff could have continued, but the pair took that moment to run for their car (good choice), and Tony apparently decided that today wasn't going to be the day he self destructed (better choice.) Within moments Tony'd managed to invite himself and the girls back with them, and Dwayne was giving him the biggest what-the-hell-happened-here look Rhodey had ever seen.

When they got back to New House, Rhodey dragged Tony off to the double that was being used for Clearinghouse and sat the kid on the bed while he called in and rolled off the names of the freshman - and women - that were now in Chocolate City.

One thing led to another, and it could have been "a situation," but after a few beers the Rush Chair accepted Rhodey's argument that Tony was really more of a kid brother than a friend. He could stay; as long as he stayed off the rush floor. Tony ended up manning the phones until rush wound down and he and Rhodey hit a few of the late parties together. 

.

* * *

Between the inches he'd put on over the summer, the 18 karat Brass Rat shining proudly on his right hand, and the charisma he now wore as a second skin, Tony seemed years older than when Rhodey'd first met him. Throw in a crash course in the behind-the-scenes social mechanics fueling every successful rush, and Tony quickly became _the_ party master. 

Even before they associated the kid with the Stark name and fortune, Tony drew people without fail. He knew how to cut loose, make people laugh, make girls giggle and blush, and get them follow him _all the way_ back to Eastgate. His swagger was brittle, but it worked. Rhodey could see this Tony leading Stark a Industries in a decade or two, or inventing something so far beyond everything today that it drove his old man out of business.

Tony's life still had too little sleep and too much lab time with not enough lab safety, punctuated by binge partying. But Rhodey worried less; he could see when the kid was really OK, and when he was going to reserve LaSala in the hopes of throwing a blowout that would get people to like him.

There were days when the cracks in Tony's confidence broke though, and his number one way of fixing them was to try to buy off whoever' noticed. (Rhodey suspected this was why he had still never met Tony's advisor.)

As Rhodey was most likely to see the boy behind the mask, he was the on the receiving end of more of these offers than he could count. Every one ended in a fight; Rhodey wasn't there for the petty cash, or the booze. He wasn't there to profit of Tony's ideas, or convince the kid to create new recreational pharmaceuticals. Rhodey was Tony's friend, practically his brother, and it _hurt_ when that went unrecognized. He know Tones wanted to drag them to brunch at the Ritz, but Rhodey never let the kid buy him more than a cheap meal if he could help it.

(There were days where Rhodey thought it might have been easier to hold the line if he'd worked at Lockheed last summer.)

Tony was expected at the Stark annual gala for Christmas, but not for anything family related, so Rhodey invited the kid to come home with him for the rest of winter break and IAP. He didn't know if Tony would show - James figured it was 50/50 that the kid either showed up before New Years or never showed at all - but it was still a bit of a shock to get back from Christmas service to find a shiny black Bentley parked in their cracked asphalt drive with a newly licensed Tony asleep in the back seat.

His siblings chalked Tony's presence up to James' overgrown sense of nobility, and his dad raised an eyebrow at Tony over dinner when he stumbled through Grace, but otherwise didn't say anything. Surprisingly, Momma and Donna _loved_ him. They badgered him to help solve crossword puzzles, plied him with mugs of hot soup and cookies fresh from the oven, and they even took in some of James' old pants to fit him. Idiot kid had left New York without even an overnight bag. 

Mama waved off the check Tony offered with a gentle laugh and a kiss to the top his head. He'd looked put out, but she'd assured him that if that was how he wanted to do it, all of his care packages were going to be COD. He'd laughed.

.

* * *

It was Rhodey's turn to laugh when the the first package arrived and Tony had to scavenge his lab for exact change to pay the postage.

.

* * *

The fights over spring break started during the first week of term. Rhodey wanted make plans and book tickets, but Tony wouldn't agree with any of Rhodey's suggestions. Despite it being Rhodey's turn to plan and pay Tony insisted everything was taken care of, but the kid wouldn't tell him where they were going or what they were doing. 

"Tones," Rhodey wheedled (because there was no way he was whining at a kid four years younger than him), "just give me a city. An airport. I'll let you know the flights."

"Dad has jets; we'll use one of them," Tony said to looking up from his bench.

It degenerated from there, but after about a week of either snapping at each other or studying in pointed silence, Tony caved and gave Rhodey a city: Albuquerque.

Before Tony could change his mind, Rhodey talked to a travel agent, purchased the tickets, and pinned them onto to the cork board of "important things" next to the takeout menu from Mary Chung's. 

The fights kept recurring: Tony swore he had it planned, and kept trying to pay Rhodeys way. Rhodey wasn't going to let that happen. When Tony said that the hotels were "taken care of, Honey Bear," Rhodey shredded the check Tony'd given him for the flights. He thought it was pretty messed up the way Tony talked about the family butler with more affection than anyone else, and Rhodey was not going to turn into "the help."

.

* * *

They flew into Albuquerque, and Rhodey got to meet said family butler. Jarvis was an elderly Englishman who ushered them into the back seat of an immaculately clean Land Rover - it was the only car in the lot not covered in red-brown desert dust - with an efficiency Rhodey had to admire. As they drove South, Tony chattered a mile a minute, only to be met periodically with a dry "as you say, sir."

They ended up at a ranch just outside of Cloudcroft. There were a half dozen cars out front, any one of them worth more than a years tuition, and every light was on. Jarvis brought parked in the back, and escorted them to the far end of the house to "clean and dress for dinner."

Rhodey had known Tony long enough that he wasn't phased by the dress uniform in the room he'd been led to, although the sight of Tony bursting into the hallway in a perfectly tailored dinner jacket with his shirt wide open and white tie clutched in his hand did earn a chuckle.

"Where's Jarvis?" Tony demanded, "I can't get this god-"

"Easy," Rhodey cut him off. He took the tie, and the tuxedo studs beneath it, from Tony's hand and started doing-up his shirt. "He left a minute ago, we're supposed to meet him in the back gallery."

With Tony immaculately pressed - the jacket and pants must have been tailored just for this occasion - they were swept out into what would be the worst party Rhodey ever attended. (Later, after the debacle where Tony was dying if palladium poisoning, he briefly considered moving it down the list - it stayed at number 1)

.

* * *

Rhodey quickly learned three things. One, Stark Industries was unveiling the Perigrine IV missile at White Sands tomorrow. Two, even in his dress blues, he was woefully underdressed (the full bird colonials were the lowest-ranking officers present, and even they were wearing dinner jackets). And three, at least 80 percent of the people here were assholes. 

He and Tony ended up hiding out in what rich people must think a den looked like (it had a sofa and television). Apparently Tony's usual job was to stand at his father's elbow reassure the crowd that the next generation of Stark Industries would continue to work with the DOD, but Rhodey had given him an out - standing next to a future officer was better than platitude. Instead they drank whatever the staff brought and Tony kept them awake with whispered biographies of the dazzling people milling about.

(Rhodey upped his estimate of assholes present to a solid 95 percent.)

Tony's mother had shown up only long enough to press air kisses to Tony's cheeks and a champaign flute into his hands. She swept off before he could even introduce Rhodey. James never met Mr. Stark.

Obadiah Stane was the exact opposite of what he'd imagined 'Obie' to be. A heavyset balding man, he'd walked up to them with a sharks-smile. He was the first person at the party to even acknowledge James.

"Obie!" Tony had shouted, throwing himself in for an awkwardly given hug, "This is my friend James "Rhodey" Rhodes. Rhodey, meet Obadiah Stane, my 'Uncle Obie'."

"James," he'd said, with a joviality Rhodey was sure was false, "what are you doing with our Tony here?" 

"Spring break, sir," Rhodey replied, "Tony promised there'd be explosions."

"That there will be!" Obis sounded delighted, and then turned his attention to Tony, "and since you finally got yourself a suit that fits properly, we won't have a repeat of the... _incident_... with you old man at the Christmas Gala."

Tony had blushed, and ducked his head. Obie ruffled his hair with a meaty hand that wasn't holding his drink, and then he was back into the crowd.

Sadly, those were the high points of the evening. Rhodey was the one who decided when they could use travel fatigue as excuse to cut out early. He needn't have bothered, there was no-one for them to say goodnight to. 

.

* * *

The dawn sun was rising behind them as they watched the The Peregrine IV test leave a new circle of devastation visible from low-earth orbit. It was worth every agonizing minute of the night before.

.

* * *

Seeing a missile test would have been more than enough for Rhodey, but Tony had other plans. The moment the smoke cleated and the dust settled Jarvis drove them to a small private airstrip: Puerto Vallarta was a little under three hours away in the Gulfstream, and Mr. Stark needed it back by dinner. 

Tony and Rhodey arrived in time for lunch, spotted a beach party and things progressed from there. Stumbling back from the nightclubs, the middle of the hotel lobby, Tony drunkenly offered to blow him. Rhodey flipped the fuck out. 

"Hell no!" he yelled, dragging Tony towards the elevators and back to their room. "How fucking drunk are you that you think I'd have sex with _you_. You're my brother, man."

He was still yelling Tony 20 minutes later. It was incredibly inappropriate. Rhodey wasn't willing to risk his commission on sleeping with a guy, and even if he was, it'd be someone his own age. And seriously, _propositioning him in the lobby_ , was Tony trying to get him kicked out of the Air Force?! Half the officers at the party probably already suspected it; hell, _Obie_ had all but said it with that head-to-toe appraisal; but the one thing on James' side was that _it wasn't true_.

Besides, he didn't need money or favors, and he sure as fuck didn't need a BJ, to be Tony's friend. 

Tony hadn't said a thing, just glared sullenly at him from the queen bed he'd claimed. Rhodey softened under that glare, finishing up with, "we're brothers, okay, and that is not something brothers do. If you want to go blow some guy because it gets you off, I'll be right there to help you pick one out, but if you think you need to do it to keep me around; then you need to grow some fucking self-respect right the fuck now."

That was when Tony had found his voice and yelled back, calling Rhodey uptight, bigoted, boring, and a babysitter. He accused Rhodey of only hanging around him out of pity or duty, and of not caring about him. 

Rhodey stormed out before Tony could really get going, slamming the door behind him and heading down to the hotel bar. With the crash of the peso, even after treating Tony all afternoon - and hopefully for the rest of the week - James could afford to go top shelf. A few margaritas and most of an hour later came back up to find an empty hotel room. He kicked himself for yelling, but Tony _had_ freaked him out. It just wasn’t right. Why would a kid he thought of like a brother, a kid he'd taken home over holidays, think that ... _that_ was what Rhodey wanted from him? 

Tony wandered back to their room at 3 a.m. with two barely dressed women hanging off him. Rhodey sat straight up in bed, and gaped at the trio in front of him. Rhodey expected a cue to vacate, but to his surprise Tony grinned at him and spread his arms wide as if offering a present to the ladies. 

"This is Rhodey?" asked the taller, blonder one. Rhodey nodded as Tony's grin got even wider. "He is very lucky to have brother like you." Her Scandinavian accent was thick enough that the s's were slurring into z's and the v's into w's, but she seemed sober enough as she smiled at him.

"I'm lucky to have him," Rhodey replied. She peeled off Tony to come closer, brushing air kisses on either side of his face while sliding her hands into his. 

"Come with me," she demanded, pulling him up and out the door so quickly Rhodey barely had time to snag his robe. As they were walking down silent hotel corridors it occurred to him that out of everyone he'd ever met, Tony had - hands down - the weirdest ways of making up after a fight. 

And even better than Sasha turned out to be (and she was very, very good) was hearing Tony call him his brother. Confirming relationship Rhodey'd always felt they’d had.

The last six weeks of term they fell back into the same habits that had seen them through the prior year. Tony kept pushing and prodding him; he clearly had no idea whatsoever how to show that he cared about somebody. He made do with trying to get Rhodey laid, throwing a drop-date party that would go down in the history books, and shit-talking the staff that he felt handn't been lenient enough with Rhodey's grades. It was warped, but it worked.

.

* * *

All good things come to an end. In June 1987 Rhodey graduated and was commissioned as a second lieutenant in the United States Air Force. Rhodey had agonized over which of his three siblings, grandparents, and cousin Majorie he should invite with the two tickets left after his parents came, or if he should just sell them. Unasked, and perhaps just to shut him up, Tony had swung a handful of extra tickets to both commencement and the commissioning ceremony.

So James was surrounded by his entire family, including his crazy white kid brother on the best day of his life.

.

* * *

He was overseas when he heard that Tony's parents had died. 

James tried to call, but no one picked up. The answering machine at the apartment was full, and he filled the one in the lab with his own messages. He called his mom, and she dug through his notes until she found the the number for the car phone jotted down in a margin. He tried calling it over and over, sometimes letting it ring for the thirty minutes he had to call home that week, but it was only answered once. Mr. Stane promised to pass his condolences on, but Tony never called back. 

Rhodey finally wrote a letter, sealing it and a piece of scrap metal inside a padded parts mailer addressed to Tony's lab. Tony was like a kid in a candy shop when his orders came in; James was sure it would get through to him. 

Five months later Rhodey got back three lines scrawled across a green-gridded page ripped from from an engineering notebook. Tony was fine, he lived in Nevada this month, and a long list of alternate phone numbers of places Tony might end up across the country, along with one that had the country code for Japan, if Rhodey needed him.

Tony didn't say anything about his parents, or why he was in Nevada, or when he was going to finish his doctorates, or if he'd stay on in the lab as a post-doc, and he didn't ask how Rhodey was doing.

It was a fucking _Dear John_ letter, made worse by the implicit assumption that the only reason Rhodey would call was to take advantage of Tony's wealth and connections.

It hit like a blow. Almost two years they'd been inseparable. Another six months the kid had gotten the majority of Rhodey's calls home. He had tried so damn hard to take care of Tony, cover the gaps other people had left in his life, and now he was discarded like one of Tony’s one night stands. They'd called each other brother. Rhodey had been saving up his leave to attend Tony's hooding ceremonies - and the after parties - in a little over a year. 

More than discarded, he'd been _repudiated._ Disowned. James gut burned, and his eyes were tight with unshed tears as he forced himself to tuck the letter into the back cover of his bible to keep it safe.

Even if family turned it's back on you, that didn't mean you could turn your back on family.

.

* * *

It was a noble sentiment, but one that was easy to overlook for weeks or months at a time. The green ruled paper yellowed. Every now and then Rhodey'd send another letter out, saying how he was doing, saying he still thought about Tony and hoped he was okay. 

Shortly after James received orders returning him to the states, he learned Tony was stepping up to lead his father's company. James hoped that this meant Tony was okay, that he felt ready, but he couldn't be sure. The Tony Stark (tm) on every TV channel looked an awful lot like Tony Stark bullshitting administration, and Rhodey had never quite known if devilry or sorrow was behind that mask. Still, he wrote again, with congratulations and a few lines about how he was doing and that he was getting transferred to the AFRL at Wright-Patterson AFB. Rhodey didn't expect a response, but the silence still stung.

The new position came with cramped officers quarters. Rhodey found a local church he liked, and the bible with its folded letter was put up on a shelf with the handful of other books he'd carried around the world.

.

* * *

Four months shy of thirty, Captain James Rhodes was still happily stationed at the Air Force Research Laboratory and was considering proposing to his girlfriend when he got a transfer notice: the brass wanted him as the assistant to the Stark Industries liaison. He objected, politely, saying they weren't really friends anymore, and was told they didn't need him to be Stark's friend, they needed someone to keep the young CEOs in line. Apparently, there was an assistant to a contracting officer who'd come out of the MIT ROTC a few years after Rhodey and she'd tracked down his name via Tony's absentee advisor. 

Rhodey - somehow - managed to transfer into the AFRL Propulsion Directorate on Edwards AFB. Maybe not the wisest call, he'd obliquely declined their equally oblique offer of a below the zone promotion to Major and his own staff, but one that kept him in the lab. But his relationship was toast - all of Tanya's friends and family were in Ohio, and she wasn't about to head to California with Rhodey.

He'd babysat Tony before, and he was resigned to doing it again, but Rhodey'd be damned before he give up Tanya _and_ rocket science for that.

.

* * *

The AFRL Propulsion Directorate was _amazing_ , and his CO had been briefed on the Stark situation. 

While he'd been in the lab it was easy to avoid thinking about Tony. He knew from tabloids that Tony still drank too much and partied too hard, but that was a given and didn't tell James what he needed to know. 

James felt tense and sick all morning before they were set to meet. He wanted to see Tony and he didn't. Anger alternated with affection and a morbid curiosity about how Tony'd turned out. It was the worst when everyone - Air Force and Stark Industries - was just waiting silently in the boardroom for the erstwhile CEO; it felt like his feelings were tumbling over themselves so quickly that he was going to be sick on the whorled cherry table.

Rhodey _did_ have the satisfaction of seeing Tony go through the same, only worse, in fast forward.

Tonys sauntered into the room, late, and his eyes swept the room over the rims of ridiculously stylish sunglasses. They hit Rhodey everything stopped. Tony stumbled mid-step, immediate recognition and a raw wide-eyed panic overtaking him. 

"Rhodey?!" he asked, addressing it to the tall, heavyset older man Jams could still recognize as Obadiah Stane. "Is this an intervention? What is Rhodey doing here?"

Mr. Stane didn't answer; he was studying Rhodey carefully. It was uncomfortable, and James wanted it to end. He stood, stepping towards Tony and extending his hand. 

"Mr. Stark. I'm the new assistant liaison for the US military to Stark Industries. I look forward to working with you," Rhodey said.

"Right. Sure, ok. Work, then." Tony babbled as he shook Rhodey's hand. Tony Stark (tm) had completely vanished, and it was clear that he was acutely uncomfortable.

It was the fastest, most on-task meeting between Tony Stark and any of the Armed Forces to date. By several orders of magnitude.

.

* * *

That went on for about 6 months, until Tony cornered him at the annual I/ITSEC conference. 

.

* * *

He was sitting in a hotel bar nursing his drink. Sure, Florida was nice in December, but all Rhodey wanted was to put in a solid week at the lab and then have a quiet weekend watching the game in civvies. It'd be better if he had someone to watch it with, but what kind of asshole follows up a proposal with 'oh, and we'll be moving thousands of miles away from your friends and family for a job that will have me traveling half the time.' He'd told Tanya what was happening, and they'd, sadly, agreed that it was over. Rhodey still sent her and her folks the tackiest postcards he could find, and they'd talked once or twice, but he was lonely. Lonely enough to drown his sorrows at the hotel bar.

Suddenly, Tony's voice came from behind him, interrupting his thoughts. "Ok. This is making me crazy. What are we doing here?"

“I’m just sitting here enjoying a rum and coke. I don't know what you're doing." Rhodey said, eyes fixed on the bar. He _really_ didn’t want to have this conversation. 

Tony slid onto the stool next to him. He ordered a martini, drumming on the counter and shooting Rhodey glances out of the corner of his eye. 

"Everybody still calls you Rhodey."

"It stuck. You were right, it was better than Black James."

Tony nodded uncomfortably, sipping his drink. The silence stretched on.

"You're mad at me," Tony said, with an sir of resigned finality, as if _everyone_ would end up mad at him, sooner or later.

"I'm not mad. I'm indifferent. You made you side of it clear, so that's fine. We can work together."

Tony swore under his breath, turning his stool away for a second.

"Would it help if I apologized?" Tony asked, the words quick and sharp, as he swung the stool back and _looked_ at Rhodey.

"I don't need you to get me women, Tony. I do fine on my own."

"No like a...normal person apology. Glad that you recognized that one, though. I wasn't sure."

"No apology needed. It's fine. Like I said, you made your end of things clear. It doesn't have to be a big deal." Rhodey shrugged, trying to keep it relaxed.

Tony gave him wounded eyes, and Rhodey started to second guess this whole interaction. "Maybe we can talk in private?"

Rhodey raised an eyebrow at that one. Tony suggesting privacy? Maybe maturity had finally started kicking in. Of course, he'd only been 17 when Rhodey'd graduated. In light of that... 

"Sure." he said, finishing off the remains of his drink. It was more water than anything else, but since he couldn't expense it he'd gotten into the habit. Tony probably had a full bar in his room, but he still downed his martini in one go.

Tony's hotel room was a suite, of course, but instead of a bar it had an elegant drinks cabinet set up next to a kitchen island that was obviously used for platters of bacon-wrapped scallops and cucumber sandwiches far more often than a "home" cooked meal. Tony bypassed it to raid the fridge for some fancy imported beers before they settled in on the couches.

Tony sat nervously, his head would tick up until his eyes met Rhodey's, and then he'd look away. Rhodey avoided Tony's evaluating glances by focusing on hooking the edge of his 'Rat under the bottle cap and using the ring to pry the top off. It was good beer.

"So, ah. Ok, not my finest hour, ignoring your calls," Tony finally blurted out. "You were worried about me."

"I thought I should be," Rhodey said.

"Probably," Tony agreed. He fidgeted with his own bottle for a moment, before cracking it open with the bright gold Brass Rat he still wore and taking a deep pull. "You couldn't have done anything about it."

"I could have listened."

"Only if I'd wanted to talk," Tony replied with a bitter smile.

"Seen you on leave, then," Rhodey persisted. 

"That's for seeing family," Tony deflected. Incandescent anger flashed through Rhodey: 1) Tony was family, 2) he'd been saving up leave for Tony's hooding and the subsequent party, so it already was Tony's, and 3) Tony knew that.

He leaned forward, seeing if he could still pin Tony with enough resolve on his face. 

"Bullshit. I would have come to see you."

Tony actually leaned back, eyes wide, as if Rhodey was threatening him. He watched Rhodey in the silence for a second, then his posture shifted, as if he hadn't ever leaned away. "Duly noted." 

Tony set his drink down on the coffee and table over the echoes of his Ma screaming to _get a coaster_ Rhodey thought ' _Christ_ , is that empty already?'

"And now?" Tony needled, as he drunkenly sunk into the low leather cushions of the sofa.

Rhodey kept his sigh silent. "Now I see you a lot. And read about you in the paper."

"Checking up on me, mom?"

"Someone'd better," he shot back, thinking how he'd checked on Tony a lot more than his mom did.

"Do I get to check on you?" Tony asked cautiously.

Rhodey gestured slightly with his beer, not really believing Tony’s display of concern. "I'm right here."

"So, ah. How are you?" Tony asked. eyes flicked over him, lips tightening

Rhodey watched Tony for a moment. 

His body might have appeared relaxed, but his eyes flickered over Rhodey and his fingers were tapping out a complicated pattern on the side of the couch. To someone who knew him, Tony's anxiety was clear. He expected Rhodey to shut him down. Part of him wanted to. He didn't have to deal with Tony's bullshit anymore. The man was old enough to look after himself. But part of him was still just too invested in Tony for that. For those two years, Tony'd been his best friend. His brother. He'd cared, in his own high-strung, confused way, and Rhodey liked him. He just had to decide whether to trust again.

"Well, the girl I was dating for a over a year broke it of with me," he answered. A half truth; a litmus test.

Tony's back straightened immediately, and his eyes flashed. He was instantaneously offended on Rhodeys behalf. 

"After a year? What the hell is the point of dating for over a year if your going to break it off? What grounds did she give? No, forget it, it doesn't matter. Look, Rhodey, she's an idiot. I know I don't know her but she's an idiot. You can do better. You know what? It's almost my birthday. Let's go to... I don't know. Tijuana or something. Puerto Vallarta again. Monaco.” Tony was still talking as he stood up and started towards the phone. "I'll book a couple flights, you'll forget her by Saturday night, I guarantee it. I will personally ensure-- are you laughing?"

Rhodey stopped fighting it. He let the grin out, laughing quietly. 

"Oh man. You never change at all, do you? I swear I'm surprised you finally let go of that hoodie. Oh my God, Tony."

"Just trying to help out," Tony said, quirking the corner of his mouth. He looked calmer, if manic was considered calmer than anxiously morose.

"Yeah, well, forget it. I haven't seen anyone in months. I'm just messing with you," Rhodey soothed, figuring it was close enough to true.

Tony sat back down, glaring very halfheartedly. He grabbed a fistful of shelled pecan halves from a crystal bowl on the table and chucked a few at Rhodey.

"You know you're twelve, right? Like, I don't think you ever even were fifteen. You're twelve and you've always been twelve," Rhodey laughed. There was a separate tray with a silver nutcracker and a small bowl of glossy shell bits; he flicked one at Tony, still laughing.

"Hey, you're the one faking breakups for attention, here." Tony objected, flinching melodramatically at the bit of shell bouncing off his face.

"Got me there." Rhodey conceded. Fancy clothes and company aside, Tony was still Tony. A mess, but Rhodey’s mess. 

"Look, Tony. We can do this again. That's fine. But you've got to promise me something."

"Name it." Tony spread his hands the way he did when he was preparing to cut blank checks.

"You don't fall off my radar like that again. I don't want to babysit you, but just stay on the radar for me. Can you do that? No more disappearing."

Tony smiled, a little more touched than he wanted to let on, but transparent as always. "Square deal. Still wanna hit Tijuana?"

"Lemme see about getting the time, ok?" Rhodey laughed. 

"Hey, your my government-funded nanny now. You don't need leave for this."

"Nuh-uh. I remember vacationing with you. I definitely want to be off duty for this."

Tonys grin only widened. Rhodey made a note to himself to get the week _after_ their trip off too.


	3. Story Notes

**Timeframe:**

Tony and Rhodey are together at MIT during the 85-86 and 86-87 school year. Tony's (canonical) birthday is May 29th, 1970 making him 15 when this story starts.

I've taken artists liscence to give James a birthday in late August 1964, and to assume that he was 'redshirted' (entered kindergarten a year after he could have) to ensure that he is of legal drinking age during rush 1985. 

Building 20 would still have been in limited use at this time, and the ROTC offices were there and PT was performed in it's courtyards.

Cambridge and Boston at this time we're extremely sketchy - the crack epidemic was as bad here as elsewhere, and junkies were predominant in Central Sq. and East Cambridge (basically the northern border of MIT, past the freight tracks)

 

**The MIT Campus:**

MIT is an extremely dense urban campus. Most of the academic buildings are located on 1/16th of a square mile (1/4 of a mile per side) defined by the Charles River, Massachusetts Avenue (Mass Ave), Vassar St, and Ames St. These buildings are usually referenced by their numbers: Building 1-10 are the original new-Grecian campus, 20 was a piece of shit thrown up in WWII that produced some of the 'tute's  greatest breakthroughs - and was reguarly modified by the occupants themselves, and 66 is a brutalist concrete building in the shape of a right triangle designed by I.M. Pei.

Almost all of the MIT undergrad dorms, and some of the frats, are located on West Campus (West of Mass Ave). The exceptions are Random House (on Mass Ave), East Campus and Senior House. In this story at have Tony living in Eastgate. Eastgate is a graduate dorm located to the FAR east, in the middle of the buildings used by MIT's Sloan School of Business. There is no parking for undergraduates, although there are a limited number of spots at graduate dorms.

The main campus, all the way north to the Med center, is connected by a series of tunnels and sky bridges. The enterprising student will never need to go outside, unless they want to eat. The two cafeterias - Lobdell at the student center and the first floor of the Walker Memorial Bldg, (which also houses MIT's radio station - WMBR - Walker Memorial Basement Radio).

 

_...to be added to as time allows..._


End file.
